


Wounds that Never Show on the Body

by StealthKaiju



Series: Reflections on Ice and Darkness [3]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Ficlet, Pitch is not the best person to give comfort, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-08 00:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17375915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealthKaiju/pseuds/StealthKaiju
Summary: ‘There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.’ - Laurell K. HamiltonHow do you help someone grieving? And how can a king of nightmares bring comfort?





	Wounds that Never Show on the Body

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a weird headcanon I had, and to be honest it is not cheerful. I try not to be graphic, but it is a discussion of a pre-mentioned school shooting, and the psychological effect on Jamie. If you just want more of Frost/Pitch courtship, it is possible to skip this one and I will be writing more of those two idiots soon.

Pitch looked and found a boy staring at him. He knew him from somewhere… where was it again?

 

‘What are you doing here? Where’s Jack?’  The boy’s eyes were narrowed, fists clenched at his side.

 

Yes, that was it, it was one of the children (Jake? James? Jamie!) who had been with the Guardians from the-time-he-didn’t-want-to-think-about. Except he was older – taller, leaner, with dark circles under his eyes.

 

‘It’s summer. Far too hot for a winter spirit to be visiting, don’t you think?’ Pitch drawled. ‘Besides, I am here on official business, which you are interrupting.’

 

Jamie crossed his arms, giving a withering look. ‘I know about that. Jack told me.’

 

Pitch sighed. ‘Then why are you asking me what I’m doing here?’ Where all human children this idiotic? How did those Guardians even stand it?

 

‘I meant, why do you have to be here now? Can’t you go away?’

 

Pitch raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not here for you, I’m here for your sister. If you just let me-‘ Pitch began, but Jamie had already rolled his eyes, walking off. Pitch felt indignant at his crude dismissal. He was the Nightmare King – leashed and arguably somewhat neutered, but still the Nightmare King. How dare this boy just walk off in the middle of his sentence!

 

He flowed after Jamie, a shadowy form that slipped in his room just as the door was being shut. He ignored the look of pure hatred that Jamie was giving him, and proceeded to inspect the room that had changed since he had last seen it.

 

Gone where the cryptozoology books and fantasy posters. There was now a computer desk in the corner, laptop almost hidden by piles of textbooks, bits of computer scrap that were now gathering dust, long abandoned. A cup of tea was left behind the curtain, bits of green mould floating in the murky brown liquid.

 

‘Go away,’ muttered Jamie, sitting on the bed, facing away from Pitch. He reached for the headphones on his bedside table, but Pitch was far quicker, snatching them from him. He expected Jamie to grab for them, but he continued to sit still as a statue, staring at the wall.

 

‘You look very tired,’ Pitch pointed out helpfully. ‘When did you last sleep?’

 

‘I sleep fine.’ Jamie muttered.

 

‘I don’t think that’s true. I could help if-‘

 

Jamie turned towards him, eyes flashing and teeth almost bared. ‘Just shut up! You don’t know anything!’ he snarled.

 

Pitch sat down on the bed, hands in his lap. ‘I know more than you think I do. Remember, I know what your sister has nightmares about.’

 

Jamie shrugged. ‘It doesn’t concern her.’

 

‘Maybe not. But you can’t stop her worrying about you,’ Pitch said softly. ‘Wanting to help, but not knowing how.’

 

There was a bitter laugh from Jamie. ‘Nobody knows how to help. No one knows what to say, what to do, how to act around me. They keep letting me get away with stuff – no chores, no homework, staying up late; they keep saying they’re here, when I’m ‘ready to talk’, but I don’t want to talk. What the fuck is that going to achieve?’ He crossed his arms over himself, his words tumbling gracelessly. ‘It’s like they keep waiting for me to get better, give me space to process or whatever, but I can’t…’ There was a soft, broken whimper. ‘How do I get over it?’

 

Pitch scoffed. ‘You don’t ‘get over’ something like that. It’s not a cold, or flu, something your body eventually develops a cure for, and you’re rid of it.’ Pitch turned, waited for Jamie to make eye contact. ‘You will live with this for the rest of your life. It is part of you, but that doesn’t mean it defines you.’

 

Jamie’s eyes began to shimmer. ‘What?’ he choked. ‘What does that even mean?’ He barked a harsh, cynical laugh, bordering on hysteria. ‘How are you so bad at this?’

 

Pitch raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m the bogeyman; I’m not here to comfort you, or make you feel better. But I will tell you the truth.’ His voice became lower and colder. ‘You had something awful happen, which should never have happened, but it did. What’s worse is that the world carried on, as if nothing happened, as if it didn’t matter. Once again reminding you that the world, the universe, _doesn’t care_ …’

 

Jamie began to shrink into himself, wrapping his arms around his body, moving away, but Pitch moved closer, his body elongating, an eel emerging from the sand. ‘Oh no, I am not done yet,’ Pitch whispered. ‘You feel guilty. Like you cheated.’

 

Jamie’s words were like the broken chirrups of a dying bird. ‘I was right there. She… she was next to me, then she wasn’t, and I…’ He gulped for air, suddenly knelt and raised his fists to strike out at Pitch’s chest. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he nearly screamed, tears and snot running down his face.

 

‘You lived because of blind chance, Jamie,’ Pitch said firmly. ‘Not good, not bad, just blind. You were no more or less worthy than anyone else.’ He held Jamie’s wrists, waited for the boy’s trembling to stop. ‘You have nothing to feel guilty for; you are not at fault; you just have to live with it.’

 

‘I don’t know how,’ Jamie murmured.

 

‘You’ll learn,’ Pitch said, sighing. He slowly lowered Jamie’s hands onto the bed, and went to stand by the door. ‘You shouldn’t have to, but you will.’

 

And then he left through the shadows under the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
